Belief
by Carbon65
Summary: A series of one shots examining each character's religious beliefs and how they got there. Some spoilers for season 2.
1. Artie Abrams: Former Donut Catholic

_A/N: The whole religion issue with Glee has been bumping around in my mind since early last season. Grilled Chesus kind of catapulted this idea into my head… I'm going to try to write one every night, but no guarantees. Graduate school is kicking my butt. These can be read/written in any order, so I'm going alphabetically._

_Artie has fascinated me pretty much the whole time, and the consensus seems to be that he is/was Catholic. This chapter is pretty much full of religious references, which may or may not be too obscure... I admit to being a Catholic choir geek. The first part of this chapter is, in part, dedicated to FMT, Fr. Doyle, Fr. Pat and Fr. John..._

Music: Mass of Light Gloria and the Beatles Lady Madonna.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. If I did, Mark Salling would sing WAY more solos. I also do not own Phillip Pullman's Dark Materials, or any of the songs I reference here.

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ARTIE ABRAMS: FORMER DONUT CATHOLIC

Artie runs his fingers over the thin coin on the long gold chain around his neck, then reaches back and undoes the clasp. He twists, and glances up at the empty spot above his bed. A nail has been pounded into the yellow wall, and there is a faded place in the shape of a cross outlined on the wall.

"What kind of stupid person decorates with a torture device?" He had asked his mother when he begged her to take down the crucifix that had been there until a few months ago. "I might as well hang up an electric chair or a noose."

Mrs. Abrams had shuttered at the mention of such things, and had ignored his request. It had taken begging his younger sister, Bex, for a few days to take the down the offending decoration and hide it in her closet. If his mother noticed, she didn't say anything.

She had to have seen the signs, though. Artie has been drifting away from her ancestral faith since, well, he's not sure. It wasn't after the accident. He eight, and even though things were unfair, he wasn't angry at God, exactly. He was angry that a man who was drinking got behind the wheel and ran into the car. He was actually thankful to be alive. Besides, church was the place where you got donuts every Sunday morning. And, his parents would never buy him donuts otherwise. He liked the round ones with the sprinkles.

In the rehab center where he had spent half a year, he'd gone to mass regularly. Even though he had only been eight years old, he had tried to pay attention to what the priest was saying, and apply it to his life. He'd liked Father Pat. He tiny man was cheerful, and had an excellent sense of humor, despite his disability. Father Pat had promised Artie that he, and his neice, would take the boy trick-or-treating. The priest in his Goonies' costume, Bailey dressed as Princess Jasmine and Artie in a generic race car driver outfit had taken more candy than Artie had ever seen. Father Pat had been the first priest who Artie had ever known who had been a person, too. He had been the one to give Artie the St. Jude metal he wore for so many years.

After Artie returned home, his father continued with the quiet sort of Catholicism that had always pervaded their home. They said grace with dinner, and Artie, Bex and Cecy knew the prayers by wrote memorization, as much from CCD as from his parents. His mother, though, reverted to a brand of Catholicism which reminded her of her youth. Pictures of Pope John Paul II appeared in the house, along with holy cards. Artie remembered spending one advent mass trading Bex two St. Francises and a Little Flower for a St. Sabastian because of the cool arrows.

When Artie was twelve, their priest left, and took the music minister with him. The new music director and priest didn't like the mass setting Artie had always known. Suddenly, the upbeat music he had always known, was replaced by something somber and painful. There was no more joy in the beginning of mass, no more solemnity in the consecration, no more comfort in the hymns. The parish moved toward more contemporary music. Artie didn't disagree that God was awesome, but he sometimes wished that they could go back to the Canticles.

When he was thirteen, he read Phillip Pullmans' Golden Compass series a second time. This time, he actually understood it. And, he wondered what it meant. Part of him knew it was meant as a work of fiction, but a small part wondered what his daemon would look like. The church stopped buying donuts, and the priest started preaching fire and brimstone.

When he was fourteen, Artie told his mother that he was too old for Catechism, and that he wasn't ready to get confirmed. He has trouble reconciling the God who loves his people and lets children in Africa starve to death, or drunken idiots hit mothers driving their sons home from soccer practice.

At fifteen, Artie stopped going to mass. He dodged more conformation classes. He begged Bex to take down his crucifix.

At sixteen, Artie watches the pain religion is causing Kurt. He isn't sure he still believes in God, and he cannot accept his mother's faith with its strict rules. He takes off Father Pat's metal. He has worn it for so long, his neck feels naked without it. He turns on his iPod and scrolls through the songs, until he finds the Beatles. He hits play, and lays back on his bed, staring at the spot over his head. He should really put up a poster there, he thinks. Maybe a donut…

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_Please Review! Is this too similar to what has already been put out there? Too weird? Should I continue? Thanks!_


	2. Brittany Pierce: Gold Crayon

_A/N: Okay… Brittany has taken me a few days to think about. So… here's one take. Brittany is surprisingly harder to write here than I expected… I hope you approve _

Brittany S. Pierce: GOLD CRAYON

Brittany S. Pierce has had sex with 29 different people in her life. Of the 27 men, there are a few she remembers: Puck, because she could pet his head like a bunny when he had his Mohawk and Mike Chang, because he took her out dancing, and Brad the piano man, because his fingers were so skillful and because it took a lot of work to get Brad to have sex with her. But, most of the men are just thin black or red lines along her bed.

She keeps a diary with a lock and key in the drawer by her bed. If its locked, the cat can't read it. She lists them in crayon, according to her patent leather system: red for someone bad who she doesn't want to see again, black for someone who might be fun to make out with again, blue for someone who she might consider dating, gold for someone so special, Brittany can never image not seeing them again. There is only one name in Brittany's book which is written in gold: Santana Lopez.

San is Brit's best friend. She knows what to order at Breadsticks so that Brittany doesn't have to practice her Lady and the Tramp impression (pushing meatballs around with her nose is fun, but it makes her cheerleading uniform messy). Her pinky finger in the perfect size to fit in Brittany's. And, even though Santana is mean to everyone else, she is always nice to Brittany.

Santana is the one who explained that God isn't an evil dwarf after Kurt got mad because his dad had a heart attack. If God isn't an evil dwarf, Brit is pretty sure he's not a big man in the sky with a white beard like everyone says, either. Her family doesn't go to church. Her mom is too busy with work, and her dad travels a lot. Brittany usually spends Sunday mornings at a friends house (another notch on her bed), or she and Santana wake up late and make pancakes and watch tv. When they flip to a channel with a church service, Santana mutters things in Spanish that Brit doesn't understand, but sound like "_pen-day-ho" _and "_pour Dee-os" _and "_Poo-ta Ma-dray_" and changes the channel quickly.

Actually, when Brittany thinks about God (a process which takes a surprisingly long time, and usually cause her to get so tired that she falls asleep), she thinks that God must be a little bit like Santana. You know… powerful, protective, kind to the people he loves, smart and worth staying with forever.

So, after Britney gives her book report on heart attacks to Kurt (the one she carefully decorated with glitter because it made the heart shiny), she tries to pray. Alone in her room, she whispers a prayer. She forgets to address it to Jesus, and accidently calls upon Santana.


	3. Finn Hudson: My Father, who is in Heaven

_A/N: Another hard on to write. I literally had to look up Ocho-Cinco on the internet, before deciding to go to something a little more emotionally charged. This is set in the second half of season 1…_

Finn Hudson: My Father, who is in Heaven

Finn Hudson's life is messed up.

For one thing, his mother just started dating Burt Hummel. Its shocking for his mom to start dating… start to sell their furniture… propose that they move in with the Hummels. Finn isn't sure how he feels about the whole situation. On the one hand, he knows that she's had it hard. He was an accident, the result of over-eager Honeymoon sex on a pinball machine. The fact that it was her best friend's honeymoon did not help the situation. So, there was the shotgun wedding to his father, and his birth. His parents loved each other, he knew that much. His father was deployed just after his first birthday, and the news of his death came only a short time later. Burt Hummel is the first person since the cheating lawn-care guy who makes his mom happy. And, Finn can't imagine Burt cheating. On the other hand, Burt Hummel is not, and will never be Finn's father. Finn doesn't want his mother to forget his dad, because he certainly hasn't.

For another, there are Quinn and Puck. Ever since Finn found out, he's been angry. He's not sure if he's mad because Quinn cheated on him… or because she lied to him. Puck was supposed to be his best friend! He watches them together, and it makes him sick.

Then, there are Rachel and Jesse. Finn's stomach flip-flops when ever he thinks about the bossy brunette. And, he finds himself standing up a bit too much. He doesn't trust Jesse St James. He was the star of Vocal Adrenaline and spends too much time on vacation, or with his friends from Carmel High.

And, there are the rest of the things that he's always worried about. His body is still a mess. He gets shin splits all the time, and Finn is pretty sure if he keeps growing, he's not going to fit in his room, anymore. Maybe he'll end up like the blond girl in Alice in Wonderland, the one who grows inside the cottage until her arms and legs shoot out the windows and the door, and her head sprouts through the ceiling. The William McKinley High basketball team is only marginally better than Titan football, a fact that the puckheads haven't let him forget. Regionals are coming up, and if they don't place, Glee will end. And, Kurt Hummel is giving Finn the creeps…

Its too much for one guy to handle. Its dark out, and the alarm clock by his bed glows 2:52 am. Finn climbs out of bed, rather than tossing and turning. He hits his head on the low, sloping ceiling. "Jesus!" He hisses, expressing frustration rather than calling on God. He rubs his head, and walks down to the living room.

Finn sits in his dad's recliner, the one in the only picture of the two of them. He sniffs, hoping to catch a wiff of his dad, but the chair only smells like the rest of the house and leather. Finn curls up into the chair as well as a more than six foot tall guy can.

"Dad, I know you're in heaven," He whispers. "I could use a little help."


	4. Kurt Hummel: Memorable Journal Entry

_A/N: I know Kurt's feelings were more than apparent in _Grilled Chesus_, but still needed to write something for him. This is probably my favorite that I've written so far, just nudging out Artie. This chapter almost takes the story from T to M. Let me know if you think I should change it. I'll ask you to review now, because the italics in the rest of the story are not from me… All grammatical mistakes in the italicized section are intentional. The underlined portions were originally crossed out... stupid FF.  
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Kurt Hummel: Memorable Journals

The eighth grade Language Arts teacher at Millard Fillmore Middle School, Ms. Riley, requires all her students to keep journals. She only reads the entries which students invite her to skim by placing them in the "READ" box at the end of the week (as opposed to the DO NOT READ box), and never grades them. She simply makes a check on the sign-in sheet pasted to the front cover of each journal that the requisite three entries have been made for the week.

Ms. Riley doesn't care what her students write about, although she encourages them to use the journal as a self discovery experience. As a result, she has a series of prompts that she recycles year after year. She asks to students to write about their families, friends, hopes, fears, dreams and memories. But, the most interesting, and most feared, prompt comes in the midst of the February doldrums. The snow in Lima has most likely receded into gray-black snow banks, leaving dead grass. Her students are similarly feeling dead, caught in the let down between their Christmas break and the advent of true spring.

Observing the bleakness of nature, Ms. Riley prompts her students to write their weekly journal about the person they dislike most. It can be anyone, but she encourages them to provide justification. She usually gets fewer journals in her READ box that answer the prompt, most students who write an answer are afraid of judgment. The people who do answer usually give mundane responses. Bullies are common targets, both in the school yard and at home. Younger siblings often come up more often that Ms. Riley, who is the youngest daughter of three, would like to imagine. Parents are also cited.

The most memorable answer to that prompt, though, came for a journal Ms. Riley was never expecting to read. When she taught Kurt Hummel, he was a fragile, pale, quiet boy with impeccable manners. He did well in school, and his only real flaw was his spotty attendance. That was easily explained by his family situation; his mother had been in the hospital with terminal cancer. She died the second to last week in January, and Kurt disappeared for a two week stretch. He returned to school on the day she asked her class to write about their least favorite people.

She watched Kurt scribble obediently in his notebook during the allotted twenty minutes at the end of class on Tuesday. She watched him stand at the turn-in box on Friday, debating whether or not to place his purple paisley book in the READ or the DO NOT READ box. She was surprised when he carefully placed the book in the former, and turned on his stylish heel to leave. Loud, confident Mercedes Jones dumped her Lisa Frank book in the DO NOT READ pile, and then slipped her arm around her friend's shoulders.

Ms. Riley could not help herself. Even though she normally waited until she sitting at her kitchen table with a large mug of tea to grade the journals, she slipped the auberguine one from the pile, and opened to the page neatly marked with a removable sticky tag, and began reading the neatly written paragraph.

The person I hate the most is

_The person who makes me the most angry is_

_The most annoying person is_

_I would hate God, if he existed. I realize that I am not actually answering the prompt, but this is my answer. There are lots of people out there I SHOULD hate... the guys at the insurance company who made my dad broke to take care of my mom… the nurses at __the place __the hospice who refused to give her __morphine__ pain medicine while she lie dying, or the man who started the whole mess in the first place by giving Mom HPV in college. But, I can't bring myself to do it, because really, all this stuff just goes back to a God, if there is one._

_I can't accept the existence of God, though. _

_If there was a God, I can't imagine that he would have let my mom die. She was too young. She was only 32. She was too special. She understood me so well, and she made the whole world full of sunlight. I would get home from school on Fridays, and she'd say, "Let's have a mini vacation!" and we'd get into the car and just drive until we got to where she wanted to go. Or, she'd take me to the store to feel the colors of the fabric. I know that sounds stupid, but it was the most wonderful feeling in the world. Or, she would hug me and tell me it would be okay, and that I was okay… She didn't deserve what happened to her, she was a good person. She made one stupid mistake and she got a virus. One mistake shouldn't cost you your entire life…_

_I don't think he would let my dad suffer this much, either. Everyday, my dad sat in the hospital, then the hospice with mom. Now she's gone, and its like she took him with her. Dad doesn't get out of bed, he just lies there with the shades drawn and all the lights turned off. _

_If there was a God, and God was good like everyone says, then he wouldn't let his representatives say that it was wrong to be gay. They say that God doesn't make mistakes, and then they say that being gay is a choice. If it were a choice, _

_If there was a God, the churches wouldn't be run by assholes. _

_So, if there were a God, whether or not he or she gave a flying fuck about us, that would be the thing I hate most._

On Monday, Ms. Riley handed back the student's journals, mostly unmarked. Kurt Hummels' had a few tear drops on the page.


	5. Matt Rutherford: Pirates and Pasta

Matt Rutherford: Pasta and Pirates

Matt Rutherford might be just another football player to everyone else, but in his basement, he is a geek. He and Jane Cobb explore the galaxy. He may or may not have auditioned for Glee club with "Laundry Day" from Dr. Horrible. He can beat just about any video game. He's even tried his hand at fan fiction once in a while. But, his best friend, Mike Chang, swears the geekiest thing about him, the one that would get Matt slushied and thrown in toilets until the end of eternity is his religion. Mike tells Matt there is no way on earth he can let anyone know, and Matt's pretty good about it, until one day during football camp the summer after their sophomore year.

Matt usually tries to ignore Azimo and Karofsky when they comment on the daily news. Today, they were mocking both pirates and the theory of evolution. It was almost enough to drive Matt crazy. The straw that broke the camel's back came when Azimo started complaining about the temperature, and then laughed about global warming. Despite Mike's warnings, Matt just snapped.

"Global warming is caused by the loss of pirates," Matt stated flatly. He remembers when he discovered the graph showing the relationship. There is a definite linear correlation between the rise in ambient temperatures and the number of pirates. He had been in seventh grade, and had wanted to dread his hair. Somehow the "R" of Rastafarian became a "P".

Matt's conversion was immediate. He read the open letter to the Kansas School Board, and printed out the now almost famous image of the flying spaghetti monster stretching out his noodly appendage and touching Adam. Matt begged his grandfather, a biology teacher, to include at least a day on the Flying Spaghetti Monster in his classes, and was never really sure whether or not his grandfather did.

It wasn't like the Rutherfords had raised Matt and his brother in any particular faith. His grandfather claimed to be a disciple of philosophy and the school of hard knocks, while his grandmother was an ex-Baptist with bad memories of patent leather shoes. They did try to instill a sense of a moral code in the boys, but Matt had been an atheist until he me the flying spaghetti monster… and he might still be.

All he knows is that clings to the idea of the noodles and pirates as much as he clings to finches and 9.81 m/s2. Also, Space Cowboys with pistols fighting the forces of goram evil reevers.

_A/N: (1) I have nothing against Baptists, or any other religious view point. But, patent leather mary janes without socks can totally cause blisters. (2) This story has been bumping around my head for a while, along with a companion piece about Matt, the closet nerd. It actually started during Skinny. I'm hoping that I can find time to go back and write it. (3) If you're unfamiliar with Pastafarianism, you may or may not want to check it out. Matt's version is less potent that the original. _

_Comments, concerns, questions and flame all welcome!_


	6. Mercedes Jones: Love

_A/N: I know I say this every time, but this was a really hard one for me to write! I am totally serious, though. I want to make it perfectly clear that I am white, and somewhat Catholic. This is based almost entirely on discussions in school and experience with a few friends. I apologize for any mistakes I have made, and welcome any criticism. Please R&R. Thanks!_

**Mercedes Jones: Love**

Mercedes Jones has loved church ever since she could remember.

Sundays were always special days. Saturday night, her mom would make sticky buns, and leave them by the stove to rise. Her dad would come into her room to wake her up in the morning, wearing his stripped pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt. She would run down to breakfast in her footie pajamas, and pour milk glasses. Her older brother would come in sluggishly, and glare around the table. Eight-year-old Mercedes didn't understand why her twelve-year-old brother wanted to sleep so much, she couldn't wait for Sunday mornings! He would tease her about her pajamas, and ask if she was going to wear them into high school. She would shrug, and take a sticky bun.

Somehow, breakfast always ran late in the Jones house, and the struggle to get ready before church would begin. Her mom would send Mercedes upstairs to get dressed. This was another reason Mercedes liked Sundays. Her mom would let her pick out a pretty dress from her closet, one she wouldn't normally get to wear. During a rebellious phase when Mercedes was twelve, there was on particular morning during when the Jones women clashed over the appropriateness of a denim skirt, but they generally agreed.

The family would pile into their van, and drive to church. Mercedes loved the feel of the seats, and the smell of the hard wood. She loved the stories, and the singing. But, she loved the feeling most of all. Standing there, in the silence, listening to the stories, she felt like someday, she might be able to be holy, too.

Now, Mercedes is fifteen, and life is more complicated. She loves God. She loves Jesus. She loves her church, and the spirit that lives there. But, she loves her best friend, Kurt Hummel, too. It's a similar kind of love, actually.

She's read the bible, memorized the passages, listened to the talks and the bible studies. And, she can't understand why her church rejects homosexuality so implicitly. The bible is full of contradictions. God made the world, and it was good. Men and Women were made in His image. Jesus came to save the world. He loved everyone. Christians are supposed to be like Jesus. But, at the same time, she has been told how anyone who is gay will burn in hell. She watched a family friend send their son away from de-gayification.

It makes her angry, and she wants to stand up, and defend her friend. But doesn't have the Words. Tradition is not behind her. She wishes that she could show them that all the Words are there.

Mercedes Jones loves her church. That's why she wants to change it.


	7. Mike Chang: Human Dancer

Mike Chang: Human Dancer

Mike Chang knew what was important in his family.

His grandmother believed in luck. She was a first generation Chinese immigrant, and although she had come over as a girl, she still spoke with an accent. His grandmother insisted they celebrate all the holidays properly, eating foods that would bring good luck. When he or his sister, Nelly, got sick, his grandmother would try to cleanse the bad luck from the house. And, there was no way to grow up in his family and not her the infamous story about how hard his grandparents had tried to buy his Uncle Joe a suit, only to have Joe reject the offer repeatedly. Mike suspects that if his father hadn't taken Joe aside to explain the tradition, there might have been a riot at the wedding as his grandparents tried to rip off the groom's suit and replace it with one of their own.

Mike's mother believes in hard work. She pulled herself up by her bootstraps and her own smart. She won a scholarship to Smith and seems to have expectations that her daughter and son will follow in her footsteps. Nelly has already disappointed, choosing to attend Ohio State to study social work. Mike knows the college decision is looming, and he isn't sure how to tell his mother that he would rather go study dance than go to a traditional four year school. He is putting the conversation off as long as possible, his avoidance aided by his mother's eighty hour a week work schedule.

**Nelly claims that she doesn't believe in anything. She is twenty, and jaded. She has studied philosophy. Nietzsche is right, God is dead. ** **Mike has given on luck. Some people are lucky, some people aren't. He knows that hard work won't get him anywhere. And, he isn't sure what to say to Nelly, other than that philosophy might be less confusing in the original German. (Mike has only just made it through his requisite three years of Spanish with Mr. Schue, and English, of course). No, Mike's beliefs are closer to home.** **Mike believes in his body. He believes in the way his arms and legs react instinctively to music, and the way he dances. He's hyper aware, and yet at the same time, he's completely in the zone. Mike can't describe the feeling, but he knows that dancing feels the same way that holding Tina Cohen-Chang makes him feel: invincible.** **So, Mike believes in himself and in his dancing.** _**A/N: Mike Chang was very hard to nail. Its so much harder when the character doesn't talk. The title of this chapter comes from a Killer song, "Human". If you want another fic related to this song, I recommend "Human" by xLokiFoxx.**_


	8. Noah Puckerman: Fear

_A/N: This is somewhat based in my story, Sins of my father. I'm trying to keep my personal cannon out of these as much as possible, but the back story I created for Puck plays pretty well with this. Its not necessary to read, but might be worth it._

_Also… if there are any characters beyond the 12 original glee club members and Sam Evans you would like to see done here, please let me know! I am happy to write almost anyone who has appeared in the show enough times to have some personality._

Puck: Fear

Noah Puckerman believed in the power of fear and rage. Hell, he had seen what it could do. His father's rage had torn apart his childhood. His mother's fear had held her back, in their little apartment, for so many years.

Quinn's fear that she wasn't good enough had lead to drinking, which lead to sex, which lead to Quinn being even more afraid that people would judge her when they found out she had slept with her boyfriend's best friend. Finn's rage at the whole situation almost derailed the Glee club.

And, Puck's own rule of terror has kept the school under his thumb. Not even Azimo and Karofsky will mess with Puck. Between his sweet Mohawk and his tendency to throw people into the dumpsters, no one messes with Puck.

Then, Puck goes to Juvie. His mother cries so hard when he get arrested. He thinks it might be because the Volvo got impounded. "You're just like your dad," she says, and he knows she is crying for him.. Its worse than when she accused Puck of being like a Nazi.

He knows that he is a Lima Looser the minute the judege signs the warrant that sends him away to that horrible school. If McKinley is underfunded, and almost no one cares, then juvy is a thousand times worse. There is NOTHING to do there: no video games, no internet porn, no one to just sit and hang out with. And, as tough as he is, Puck becomes the victim.

His cellmates make a point to make him feel welcome. He learns to sleep with one eye open after that… or not at all. He spends the first week with a black eye for trying to fight back. They learn to hit him where it can't be seen. Under his clothes, Puck is a mass of bruises, and he's starting to get scared.

Breakfast doesn't happen. Puck _likes_ breakfast food. It may not be manly, but it's the only meal of the day where you can eat meat _and _sweet. Of course, in juvie, all they serve is bacon with waffles, syrup and _milk_ to drink. Puck may be a bad Jew, but he's not about to eat bacon. So, he quietly gets a glass of milk, and tries to get a waffle… until the refridgerator in line in front of him steals it off his plate.

Classes are a joke. They learn NOTHING. Its just an eight hour a day holding period. Actually, in that respect, it's a lot like McKinley, except that there is no janitor's closet to escape to where he can make out with Santana, and the nurse here is an ex-marine who doesn't let the students miss for anything short of a fever with vomiting. So, Puck sits in class.

He spends the entire three weeks of his sentence terrified out of him mind. He is constantly on edge, and it makes him angrier and angrier. He does all he can to keep things in check, but it isn't easy. No one respects him. No one cares.

When he gets out, Puck is angry, lonely and happy to be home. He knows he can't let anyone know how bad juvie was… otherwise, he will loose his reputation. So, he lies about the awesomeness of the situation. After all, no one can know he was afraid. Puck knows the power of controlling fear.


	9. Quinn Fabray: Purity Princess?

_A/N:_ _Although I know that 2x06 showed Quinn and Sam making out surrounded by statues of the Virgin Mary, which I typically think of as a catholic symbol, she and her parents have always struck much more as Christian evangelicals. I'm using this slant to the chapter. I based part of Quinn's story on __Sex and the Soul__by Donna Frietas, which I recommend for almost anyone getting ready for college, or already there.__ Also, I'm still taking suggestions if there is anyone else (outside the original 12 and Sam) you'd like to see a chapter about... review or PM me and let me know.  
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Quinn Fabray: Purity Princess?

Quinn Fabray rests her hand on her swelling stomach, and sighs. She slips through the heavy wooden door, and into the darkness of the sanctuary. "God, I know you're supposed to be like a father," she prays quietly, thinking of her own daddy.

Growing up, Quinn was her Daddy's little girl. He might have seemed cold and harsh to other people, but to his younger daughter, he was kind. When ever he traveled for work (which was frequently), he brought her little presents. They were inexpensive, a pen, maybe from a vendor show, or a postcard, but they were always exciting to Quinn. He came to as many of her gymnastics competitions, and later, her Cheerios competitions, as he could.

But, the thing Quinn remembers most were their Saturday morning bagel runs. Her mother and sister were sleep queens, but until Quinn turned twelve, her natural clock got her up with the sun. On Saturday morning, she would get up early and get dressed. She would watch cartoons until her dad, the other early riser in the family, would come down showered and dressed. The two of them would creep out of the house. They would listen to Car Talk together, and her dad would laugh along with Tom and Ray Moliatzi. He didn't normally listen to NPR, which he described as liberal crap, but somewhere along the line, he had developed a fondness for the two Bostonians. They would park in front of the bagel store with the wide wooden porch and the red and white awning. Quinn would slip her hand into her father's as they went into the fragrant bakery. The yeasty smell, and the strength of her father's hand around her own made Quinn feel warm and safe. Mr. Fabray would get half a dozen bagels, then turn to Quinn and ask her what she wanted. She could pick out any cookie she wanted, and eat in the car, as long as she didn't tell her mom about her unconventional breakfast. Quinn knows that the cookie was a small thing for her dad, but it meant to the world to her. It still does.

A few years after the morning bagel outings ended, Quinn's youth group had a presentation that she will remember forever. Her father had always been involved in her religious upbringing, and he was especially insistant that she go to this youth group meeting. Quinn was frustrated, because it fell at the same time as one of Sue Sylvester's famous cheerleading clinics. If Ms. Sylvester noticed a girl during the clinic, she had a pretty good chance of making the famed William McKinley Cheerios when she made it to high school, which was one of Quinn's dreams. But, her father insisted, so Quinn attended youth group instead of the clinic.

A group of parents stood at the back of the large room the youth group used for their meetings. They milled around and drank coffee, and talked quietly. At the front of the room, the youth group leader explained they were going to have a special presentation, and welcomed the team. Quinn doesn't remember the organization they came from. The presenters were so dynamic and engaging. They reminded the girls they were the daughters of a king, and it was their responsibility to remember they were princesses. The boys were warriors, fighting against a culture which was trying to lead them astray. But, whether they were princesses or warriors, they all had a special gift given to them by God, which they needed to protect. It was a gift intended for their spouse, and no one else. They were told that any time they were tempted, they should pray for their future spouse, because somewhere, that boy or girl they were destined to marry was getting tempted, too.

After the presentation was over, Quinn felt filled with the spirit and conviction. She went back to her father, smiling and feeling holy. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and hugged her close. It made Quinn feel proud to be his daughter. In the car on the drive home, he let her sit in the front seat for the first time. As they sat in the drive way of the Fabray's house, Quinn's father pulled a small box out of his back pocket, and opened it. He slipped the silver band onto Quinn's ring finger.

"This is to remind you that you're a princess, Quinnie," He told her. "Someday, I'll be able to give this to your husband as a promise that you've stayed pure and waited for him." Quinn hugged her dad back, and ran upstairs to show her sister her new ring.

Now, four years later, Quinn sits in the church, alone and pregnant. It is a Wednesday night, and she has crept in like a ghost so that no one will know that she is here. She doesn't think she can face the minister, or any of the people from her youth group. But, she cannot stay away. She needs the familiar darkness and the rich quiet. Her life is a mess. Her father will not look at her, or speak to her. Her mother is ashamed, and her purity is ruined. She gave her "special gift" to Noah Puckerman for the price of a few wine coolers. Now, she's living with Puck and his family. None of her former friends will talk to her anymore. No one respects her, and she has sunk so low on the popularity tree, that she doesn't think she will ever be able to rehabilitate herself. She can't stand it anymore.

"God," she whispers again, barely audibly. "Oh, God, I know I've messed up badly. I've broken your trust. I've done something awful. But, I'm so alone. Please, dear God, please, don't make me stay alone any more. Please, let me be your little girl again." She feels the tears run down her cheeks, and Quinn's voice breaks as she repeats the words again. "I just want to be your little girl, again."


	10. Rachel Berry: Control

_A/N: This went in a completely different direction than I expected... actually, so did Puck's. I was going to incorporate more Judaism into the piece, but the combination of my muse and mid semester burn-out just weren't buying it. I may have to do a Jacob Ben Israel just to get that in. But, I hope this is still acceptable._

Rachel Berry: Control

Rachel Berry knows that she has what may be called an abrasive personality. But, its not entirely her fault. She lies awake at night, going over and over what will happen if she doesn't get A's in her classes, or a perfect 1600 on the SATs.

She wants to sing _all_ the solos in Glee club. Not _some_ of the solos, _all_ of the solos. Sometimes, she wishes that she had a male version of herself, so that _he_ could sing the solos. Jesse St. James came close, until he defected back to Vocal Adrenaline. She tells everyone that she loves the spotlight, and that someday, she wants to star on Broadway. Its not a lie, Rachel loves the stage more than anything. But, she wants to make sure that every solo is perfect, even more.

Rachel eats a precise vegan diet. She brings all her own food, carefully prepared. That way, no animal product of any kind will touch her lips or her body. When Glee costumes call for leather, she makes her dads drive her to Cincinnati so she can buy her special brand of organic, vegan pleather.

Rachel may or may not have scripted her first date (and her second and third) with Finn.

Its just that Rachel just likes to be in control. She believes in the order in the universe, and she does everything she can to maintain that order. Rachel may or may not have read _So You Want to Be a Wizard_ when she was eight, and decided that she, like Nita, needed to fight entropy. Even though she was a precocious child, Rachel wasn't sure what entropy was exactly. She only knew that the best way to keep it in control was to maintain order.

So, room cleaning and vegetarianism turned into full blow veganism and control of every aspect. Rachel clings to the things in her life that let her maintain control. Because, if she can't maintain control, Rachel isn't sure she can continue.


	11. Sam Evans: Science and Scissors

_A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my brother, who provided some inspiration for my view of Sam._

Sam Evans: Science and Scissors

Sam Evans has never done particularly well in school. He tries hard. He remembers most of what has been said. He remembers the little details of things he hears, and he can tell you things from the books about the stars his mother read him as a child. But, when he tries to write things down, they get messed up. The letters twist themselves into chicken scratch under his pen. The order of the letters, and the sounds they make do to make sense in Sam's brain.

He hated pens until he was forced to pick them up. Most three years olds like coloring. Not Sam Evans. His mother gleefully relates an incident when parents ever talk about introducing their children to scissors. She let Sam cut up any junk mail she got. Her normally energetic son would sit still for a good fifteen or twenty minutes in the middle of the day if he got to use his safety scissors on a credit card application. He was far more efficient than any shredder.

One Saturday, she and Mr. Evans were discussing a missing finance check. Sam's dad was a salesman who submitted an expense report at the end of each month. The company sent a check to pay the expenses. Sam's mom asked her husband how they could pay the bill, when little Sam walked into the room. "Mommy, I made a square!" He said, holding a scrap of paper with half a zero followed by 75.6. His parents just groaned. The company re-issued the expense check, once all the shredded pieces had been resubmitted along with an adorable picture of Sam. His mother got better about where she left the mail, and scissors, too.

Sam only had two subjects where he did really well: physical education and science. Even if he could barely read, and wasn't entirely sure the difference between an independent and a dependant clause, eight year old Sam could name all the moons of Jupiter. At twelve, when he mastered the ability to read quickly and silently, Sam taught himself all the functions and organelles of the cells. At fifteen, Sam had trouble writing a basic five paragraph essay or a thesis, especially if he was doing it by hand, but on his first date with the beautiful Quinn Fabray, he pointed out the stars, and named the constellations for her.

Sometimes, he and Quinn talk. Actually, Quinn likes to talk. Sam would be just as happy making out, but Quinn feels a need to discuss things. Jesus is one of Quinn's favorite things. Sam isn't sure he belives in Jesus.

He knows he believes in God, though. Sam wonders how he cannot believe. Not that he would admit it, but Sam loves beauty. The simplicity of a water molecule, the smattering of stars on a clear night, Quinn's smile. Sam knows beauty when he sees it. And, there is no way that the beauty he knows could have happened by random chance. The way the far away stars burned, and provided light and dreams. Sam didn't believe in random chance. There had to be an unmoved mover.


	12. Santana Lopez: Saturdays with Mary

_A/N: I apologize for the delay. I hope all of you had as fabulous of a fourth week of November as I did. Unfortunately, the fabulousness left me little time to write… _

_I've always though there was more to Santana than just Queen Bitch. Although her character may not play it, I've wanted to make her Catholic since I started this series. This is not the original piece I wrote for her, that may become its own stand alone story. This was partially inspired by "_Mi Condición Femenina y Mi Fe"_ by Nancy K. Olivas, published in __From the Pews in the Back__by Kate Dugan and Jennifer Owens. I hope I've done it justice._

Santana Lopez: Saturdays with Mary

Santana Lopez hates spending Saturday nights at home. She practically begs for any opportunity to be somewhere else. Brittany is pretty good about their sleepovers, or the boy of the week can be counted on to provide an escape. Its the loneliness that makes San crazy, a loneliness she cannot escape.

When she was a little girl, Santana used to spend her Saturday nights at her grandmother's house. They would cook together, and then _Abuela_ would get out her bottle of beer with the spoon stuck in the top to keep it from going flat. Even though her grandmother was a proper lady, they would sit together, eating their dinner of tv trays in the living room, while they watched Telenovelas together. Then, Abuela would tuck Santana into bed, and together they would whisper the familiar words of a prayer.

"_Ave Maria, llena de gracia, el Señor es contigo…"_

In the morning, they would go to church together. While _el Padre_ intoned the _misa_, Santana would stand by her grandmother, feeling very grown up. After communion, and the dismissal prayer, the elderly lady and her young charge would make their way over to a small side corner of the church, just to the left of the red light burning before the tabernacle.

White candles in plastic sconces burned constantly in the little _capela_. The air was always perfumed with the scent of the cut roses supplicants would leave at the feet of the statue of a young woman in pale blue. Behind Mary, a stained glass window showed an image of a middle aged woman and her young daughter. The daughter, dressed in blue, was clearly the woman depicted in the statue, but the proud mother next to her, in a red mantel, was her mother, _Santa Ana_. Abuela would whisper her Aves, while Santana sat quietly. Sometimes, the little girl would pray. But, most of the time, she would stare at the window. She loved the image of the mother and her daughter. Someday, she wanted to be like the woman for whom she was named…

After mass, Abuela and Santana would walk to the Taurus her grandmother drove. Even though Santana wasn't normally allowed to ride in the front seat, Abuela would let her. They would go to her grandmother's favorite bakery, and get coffee. "_No digas nada a tu padre, mija_," Abuela would admonish every week. Santana would smile, and keep her grandmother's secret.

Santana's home life was none too good outside Saturday nights. Her father was a doctor, and a workaholic. He spent more hours with his patients than he did with his family. Her mother was timid, keeping a perfect house, cooking good meals, never questioning or crossing her father. It was like her father was the king of the castle, and her mother was a lowly servant.

Santana was thirteen when her grandmother died. It was the first time she spent time alone in her parent's house on a Saturday night. It was the first time she heard her mother's cries, of "Mariano, no!" and her father's rough words, "Callate, Magdelena!"

Santana lay in bed, over and over again, repeating the familiar words of her grandmother's. 

_Bendita eres tu y bandito sea el fruto de tu vientre, Jesús._

Santana cried out to Mary, to her Abuela, to anyone who would listen, but no one did. The next morning, so she went to mass alone. She was restless, though. The ritual, which had seemed magical with her _Abuela _as her guide suddenly seemed rigid and confining. Why should Santana sit and stand at the whim of the _Padre_? She had her own mind.

After the service, she made her way over to the corner chapel. She stared at the flickering candles, and the window, until glass became blurred with her tears. "_Adios, Abuela_," she whispered, and she leaned over to blow out her grandmother's favorite candle. "_Adios, Maria, Adios, Santa Ana_." Santana Lopez slipped out the church door without a backward glance.

No one has ever asked her to return. She doubts anyone will. She escapes from her house on Saturday nights, and doesn't say a word to anyone. Sometimes, though, when she is stuck there, she finds herself whispering her grandmother's prayer, hoping that some day, a devotion to Mary will triumph over a devotion to patriarchy.

"_Santa Maria, Madre de Dios, reuga por nosotras, las pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte, Amen."_


	13. Tina CohenChang: Beauty and Service

_A/N: I apologies for the lateness of this. I had fully intended to finish off this series before Christmas. However, my computer blew up (not in a cool, flaming, loss of hard-drive way, in a sort of quiet, tired loss of hard drive way)… and it took me a month to replace my machine. I am again using my personal cannon in this piece… its slightly cross-over. Without any more ado, here is Tina._

Tina Cohen-Chang: Beauty and Service

Tina Cohen-Chang loves beauty. She could spend days in museums, looking at the paintings. The quiet and the gentle lighting fill her. She will pause for hours to take photographs of flowers. And, she adores music. She never stuttered when she sang, even when she was the most shy. Of course, she only sang in the shower, so it hardly counted, but still.

Her mother, the high powered lawyer and cultural jew isn't sure what to do with her artsy daughter. Liz Cohen doesn't have extra time to talk to Tina about God, she's too busy assembling notes for her court case next week and making sure the women at the domestic violence shelter have enough blankets. Liz doesn't exactly believe in God, but she's a big fan of good works. And so, noticing her daughter's interest in the arts, Liz wants Tina to teach a class to children. Asian summer camp is a compromise.

Tina's father doesn't much care for art, either. He is the cosumate scientist, always reading the latest papers and looking for the latest evidence. His practice is flourishing, and he barely has time any more, either. In some ways, he's like Tina in that he loves beautiful things. They just have different definations of beautiful. The intricate workings of the patellar tendon will never fascinate Tina the way they do her father. In other ways, he's like his wife, always looking out for someone. After being dragged through numerous butterfly houses, and watching his sensitive daughter sigh over the captivity and eventual death of the colorful creatures, he has given up trying to talk to her about much beyond the day-to-day.

The person who most feeds Tina's emptiness is her uncle Mark. He sends her little presents from the East Village and, when she visits him, introduces her to all sorts of interesting people. He's the first one who ever talked to her about protection, and even though she was nine, and too shy to even talk to a boy in Ohio, she appreciated it. He took her to off-Broadway shows and the Metropolitian museum of Art. And, Uncle Mark showed Tina his work, helping AIDS patients re-connect with their families before its too late through videos.

Mark is so passionate about his work that he gives his niece strength. Some day, Tina wants to be like her uncle. She believes in using beauty to touch people's lives and make them better.


End file.
